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I’m not falling for it.
I’m not falling for anything he’s planned. I would think that even this meeting was a set-up, if I hadn’t spontaneously thought of stepping out.
He’s done this before, actually. His minions locked me inside Mr. Philips’, our history teacher, office after giving me a fake message that he was waiting for me. I was stuck inside that room for two whole hours until the cleaning crew came in and unlocked the door.
Asshole.
“Are you aware that you’re walking backward?” he asks at last, turning toward me, propped against the wall on his arm.
I realize that he’s right. I have been walking backward. “What’s it to you?”
“You can’t do that.”
I scoff. “Yeah? Why? Are you going to stop me?”
He shakes his head slowly. “No, but if you keep going then the potted plant behind you will.”
My eyes go wide, and I come to a jerky halt.
He’s right.
There are potted plants flanking both sides of the service entrance and I feel the brush of the leaves against my back. If I’d kept going, I would’ve stumbled into them or maybe even fallen.
“I knew that,” I lie.
“Sure,” he says with an amused voice that gets my back up; it’s an old reflex.
There’s something about him, you know. Some quality, some kind of provocation that lights my skin on fire.
“I didn’t need you to tell me that,” I insist.
“Got it,” he replies flippantly.
Even though I take offense at his tone, I decide to stay quiet. I promise myself that I won’t say anything.
I don’t. For about six seconds. Then, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Back in this town. Back in my life. Back in my fucking head.
“Getting fresh air.”
“Right. And you had to pick this spot?”
“Yes.”
Then he has the nerve to twitch those cancer-breathing lips before taking another drag and tilting his face up. A growl surges up in my throat but it’s cut short by what he says next.
“I forgot that you could see the stars up here,” he murmurs.
His voice almost sounds like a low, satisfied sigh. Like the sight of stars is something he hasn’t had in a long time.
While he seems at peace, his words are playing havoc on my body.
They halt my breath and make my heart race. They awaken the butterflies.
I remember the falling star from last night. I remember the wish I made, and now, he’s here. A potential danger to everything I’ve been working toward for the past few months.
“And you couldn’t see the stars where you came from?” I ask.
